


The Stupidest of Promises

by shadesofstory



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Matter of Life and Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:42:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25874560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesofstory/pseuds/shadesofstory
Summary: Eve bargains with Villanelle over a deathbed promise.______________No one actually dies.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 6
Kudos: 126





	The Stupidest of Promises

**Author's Note:**

> Successfully breaking promises to myself since 1992. Most recently, the one not to write this very thing.

Love is stupid, apparently. 

Which is an annoying thing to realize when it’s too late because here she was already in it. She would have died for Eve, obviously. She knew that even before she shot her in Rome. 

“That was so stupid, Eve.” She didn’t like the way her voice sounded. So many annoying things today.

Anyway, people make mistakes, what can she say. She had seen the movie Hercules, she knew that love makes people do crazy things. 

Eve knew it too, eventually. She even forgave her for shooting her, more or less. 

That was one of her favorite English phrases, more or less. Typical of the British to use three words that all put together mean nothing at all. 

“Why would you do something like that? You know, for a smart person, you make very bad decisions.”

Everyone knew that killing for her would have been too easy. Villanelle thought dying would have sufficed, but no, she was not allowed even that. Greedy Eve, always wanting more. 

Eve’s eyes were closed. Villanelle pushed down harder, and harder again, until Eve groaned softly.

“It’s rude to ignore people who are trying to express their feelings to you, Eve.”

“You know I don’t speak Russian,” Eve murmured. Her eyelids fluttered open, and Villanelle felt her stomach jolt. 

“I wasn’t speaking Russian,” Villanelle answered in English.

Eve’s chuckle came out more like a gasp, but Villanelle knew what it was supposed to be. 

She knew because after the bridge, after the kiss and the too late at night ice cream that followed, after the train ride and the too small room on the ferry, after the Mediterranean and the sand and the mostly boring history of the later fully desecrated ancient temple, after all that, she knew Eve. She knew her. She did.

So that’s why she knew her gasp was supposed to be a laugh. It was not because she had heard too many fading people try and laugh before. It was not because she knew what dying sounded like.

“You speak Russian when you’re not thinking. Or when you dream.”  


Eve’s face was too pale, and Villanelle did not like that. Also blood covered her own hands, and normally she didn’t mind blood, but this particular blood was supposed to be Eve’s. She stopped taking things of Eve that did not belong to her because again, love was stupid. She realized when she was on the train that Eve chased after— it was important to never forget to gloat that Eve chased her on a train— she did not want anything from Eve that Eve did not give her freely. 

In this case, even if Eve had offered her the blood, she did not want it. Eve needed it, and also, even psychopaths have their limits.

“Well you have an American accent all the time, even when you are thinking. That’s so much worse.”

A shiver moved through Eve’s body, and her grasp on Villanelle’s hand tightened. Her breathing was shallow, and it sounded wet. People die a bunch of different ways, but death itself isn’t specific. It happens pretty much the same for everyone. Not even Villanelle could pretend she knew that for any reason except her previous occupational experience.

Eve smiled, but her eyes closed again. Villanelle shook her. 

This was not fair. Eve did not get to leave her now, like this, after she gave her the opportunity to walk away nicely months ago. It had been such a bullshit poetic moment. It even rained, which normally did not count since it was London, but counted that time because of course it made the story better and it matched her outfit.

Villanelle shook her more. 

“Ow,” Eve grumbled. “Asshole.”

“This is very bad form, Eve. I know you’re old, but you’re not time to die old yet. Leaving the party early is not good manners.”

In what looked like it took a lot of effort, Eve opened her eyes fully and laced her fingers into Villanelle’s. 

“I’m sorry,” Eve whispered. 

She traced Villanelle’s face with her eyes like she had done so many times, so many times Villanelle knew. As a stranger in grainy CCTV, as a teenage mugshot, as a murderer, as a terrible dance partner, as a practically perfect lover. The last one was not bragging. If she had to be honest about the dancing then she had to be honest about the fucking, too, right?

“I’m sorry, baby,” she repeated.

Villanelle choked on her laugh. “You are not funny.”

Eve twitched in a way that could almost have been a shrug. “You love me anyway.”

Whatever this feeling was, this terrible sickness gathering in her stomach and her throat and behind her eyes, it was bad. It was not love. Even love could not be so bad. 

“You are not supposed to die, Eve. That is not how this is supposed to work.”

Eve finally believed Villanelle loved her, she knew. Eve started believing it on the bridge, maybe, when Villanelle leashed her monster long enough to walk a dozen steps in the wrong direction. She didn’t go farther, but it was not ever such a long leash. 

Villanelle started to hope Eve loved her back, could love her back, during their tea dance. Murder interrupted them then, too. But Eve said it out loud after she came back to her on the bridge. She had been so surprised then. Her own happiness surprised her. 

But she did not want love now. Not if it was this. Love tricked her. She did not like being tricked.

“You can have any life you want.”

“You told me my interior design ideas were too extravagant.”

“I said too extravagant for our budget. They were beautiful.”

“Obviously. I know.”

She called the ambulance 34 minutes ago. But they were far away from the town. The ambulance was in the town.

“We were almost there,” Eve whispered. “You can take the rest of them down yourself.”

“I could have taken all of them down myself,” Villanelle answered. She ignored the burning in her eyes. Why was everything burning all of a sudden. “You are really not so helpful as you think, Eve.”

“Right, because you were doing so great before I came along.”

Villanelle shrugged. “I was rich. I had great clothes.”

“You were bored,” Eve said. “You were lonely.”

“That was better than this,” Villanelle said, and her voice was the next on her list of traitors when it broke. “Feeling nothing forever would be better than feeling this. Why would you do this?”

“I love you,” Eve answered, far too simply with her voice far too soft. “I didn’t even think about it. I saw the gun and just… reacted.”

“Overall a very poor reaction, Eve.”

Eve shook her head the tiniest bit. The sunlight caught in her ridiculous hair. “Love is about making sacrifices.”

“Love is stupid.”

Eve moved a shaking hand to Villanelle’s cheek, and she hated herself for leaning into her cold fingers, but she did. 

“If you were dying, would you think it had all been worth it? Even if you were leaving me behind in pain?”

“I am a very selfish person, Eve. Probably not the right one to ask, don’t you think?”

“That sounds like a yes. It has to work both ways.”

Eve shuddered suddenly, and Villanelle dipped her forehead down to rest against Eve’s. Maybe she could give her the air, somehow. They could share. 

“I love you, you know,” Villanelle whispered. “Even though love is stupid. It would not be very nice for you to leave me in pain.”

“You have to promise me that you’ll remember love is worth the pain, okay? Promise me you won’t forget who you’ve become.”

She shook her head against Eve’s, so gently. She did so many things gently now. “Promise me you won’t die then. I don’t really see what is in this bargain for me. Promise me you won’t die, and I will make your stupid deal.”

Eve tipped her face up and caught Villanelle’s lips with her own. Their softness still enthralled her, even after so many hundreds of times, even this time mixed with the rusty tinge of blood. 

“I promise that every time I have a choice, if I ever get another choice again, I will choose you. Your face is all I see in my future, remember? Over and over again until the end.”

A tear dripped from the end of Villanelle’s nose onto Eve’s lips, but she didn’t seem to feel it.  


“Fine, I promise love is worth it or whatever,” Villanelle whispered. “Even though it is not, and it is stupid.”

The sound of sirens, faint but growing, materialized in the distance. Villanelle’s head shot up. 

Eve’s answering chuckle somehow sounded a little less like a rattle this time. Villanelle gripped her hand and blinked back the hope that was now crowding around in her chest with the fear.

“No take backs on the promise if I don’t die,” Eve murmured. 

And Villanelle grinned.


End file.
